


Cold and Wrong and Awful

by Effluvium



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Din Djarin Whump, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt Din Djarin, Hurt No Comfort, Injury, Major Character Injury, Major Character(s), ManDadlorian, Protective Cara Dune, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effluvium/pseuds/Effluvium
Summary: Beskar spear through black.  Dark Saber through silver.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 188





	Cold and Wrong and Awful

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I still remember how to format.
> 
> Also, there's no comfort, sorry.

Cara ran in just in time to watch it happen; just in time for the second tragedy, for the Child to cry out, to screech something awful. Just in time for the room to lose all its air, for it to grow cold and _wrong_ and _awful_. 

_Beskar spear through black. Dark Saber through silver._

She wanted to stop, say that her eyes were deceiving her, that there wasn’t pure plasmic energy cutting through her closest friend. She wanted to say that she didn’t hear the audible gasp in the quiet room, or the way he stumbled forward, looking Gideon in the eye.

The spear retracted; the Mandalorian stumbled, lifting his head, driving the spear through Gideon’s throat, blood splattering on his helm.

_Dark Saber through silver._

Cries cut her out of her dazed state; she watched him stumble backward, the Saber still piercing, just below the beskar. He fell, and she caught him.

“Din?” She turned the Saber off, throwing the hilt far.

“Cara?”

She could hear the blood in his throat, the way it gurgled, splashed in his lungs. “Din, you’re going to be fine.”

“It -- it… _shit_ ….” He was gasping, grasping at Cara’s arms. Pure, unadulterated pain coursed through his veins.

_‘I’m not going to make it.’_

Cara had no words; the room was too cold, and this was just not _right_.

“Where’s Grogu?” Din coughed, shifting, clawing at the floor desperately. “Grogu? Kid? Where….”

Cara tried not to think about how broken his voice sounded, how the modulator didn’t even seem to do anything.

Grogu waddled up, placing his hands on Din’s shoulder, over the Mudhorn signet. He cooed, ears drooped, small pinpricks of blood littering his hands.

“ _Kid_.” Din sighed, turning his head, blood glittering on his visor. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for…”

“Din,” Cara was trying so hard, but his blood just kept soaking through her fingers, making them stick together in the awful, disgusting, uncomfortable way. “Din, we need to move; there’s bacta on the Slave 1, you’ll be --”

“Grogu, c’mere.” 

“Din --”

“I kept the knob for you, see?” Din produced a small silver ball, tuning Cara out. “You can have it. And… my pauldron, the one with -- the signet --”

He coughed again; bloody and wet and awful. It dripped underneath the helmet, down his chin, onto his neck.

_‘I’m not going to make it, and you know it.’_

“Cara, I can’t -- I can’t breathe, the helmet --”

Her voice caught in her throat. “Your creed.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore.” Din coughed, fingers twitching. “I need… I need to look at him”

Her hands shook violently as the mechanism diffused, air releasing from underneath. Her eyes darted around, air catching in her throat. 

There he was. There was Din Djarin.

Umber hair, dark skin, shitty mustache, scraggly beard. Nose jacked up from being broken so many times. Brown eyes, rimmed red, light shining harshly on them, tears glistening as they fell down his cheeks. Blood staining his lips, his teeth, his chin --

“Grogu?” His voice was harsher now, but still deep, still _Din Djarin_. “Grogu, I’m… sorry I let this happen. Ashoka… she’ll take care of you.”

Cara felt sadness building up in her throat, choking her with barbed wire. “Din, you’ll be…”

Who was she kidding?

_Cold and wrong and awful._

_Dark Saber through beskar._

_‘Let me have a warrior’s death.’_

Grogu cried, hitting the pauldron in frustration, fat, ugly tears falling down his face. He was too tired, too worn out, to heal.

“Cara.”

She whipped her face back to his, looking at those eyes, at the fear, the _pain_. “Din, it’s….”

He grasped her hand with his left, squeezing hard. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t… supposed to go like this.”

Warmth splashed her cheeks.

_Pale face, pale skin, too pale, no more blood to lose--_

“I want him to have it, my helmet, the pauldron.” Din glanced down at the saber wound, how the blood was slowing down.

“Okay.”

“I’m…” Din’s eyes drooped. “I’m glad we met.”

Cara grinned, smile wavering as she fought off cries. “Me too, Din.” 

And then, his eyes stopped seeing; his pained smile slackened and his head tilted just barely, and his shoulders slumped. Cara caught his face as he became dead weight, sobbing as she pulled him to her chest, hugging him, rocking right there on the cold, metal floor. Grogu cried, grabbing Din’s finger.

She placed him back against the wall, gently closing his eyes. Grabbing Grogu, she stood up, whipping her blaster out and shooting Gideon’s body, over and over and over, tears streaming down both their faces. She fastened the spear to her back and the saber to her belt, picking up the beskar helmet, kneeling down, and carefully removing the bloodied pauldron from his cold shoulder.

_Cold and wrong and awful._

“I miss you already, tin can.”


End file.
